Korea Cup Quarterfinals (3)
Unlike the relatively quiet opening stretch, the tempo had suddenly accelerated to a blistering pace. When that dazzling spell of play culminated in Yoon Seung-hwan’s opening goal, the commentators scrambled to pour out their takes.
“Gwangju’s looking rattled after conceding earlier than expected. From Coach Bae Hee-sung’s perspective, they’ve got to claw this deficit back somehow, right?”
“Exactly. The Gwangju side under Bae Hee-sung doesn’t have that many clutch performers. When the plan falls apart, they tend to collapse without fixing it—but this is the Korea Cup, so they’ve got to turn it around.”
“By the way, Baek Yi-an’s movement today is something else. After coming back from suspension, he looks a whole lot lighter on his feet. And he’s not doing any of his usual celebrations after the assist—probably holding back because he’s worried about picking up a card, right?”
“I’d say so. For Jeonbuk, this is a golden chance at the treble. They can’t afford to get carried away and throw it away. According to the pre-match materials we checked, Jeonbuk even secured a separate seat for Baek Yi-an’s girlfriend just to keep any impulsive behavior in check.”
The plan was, on paper, pure nonsense: zero in on Shin Nam-hyuk, grind him down, and force a step-up out of him.
But Baek Yi-an believed with absolute certainty that it would work.
Which was why he was dishing out trauma-level pain to Shin Nam-hyuk without the slightest hesitation.
“Lee Tae-ho, pass to Park Ji-hoon—Park Ji-hoon! He feeds it back to Shin Nam-hyuk! Nam-hyuk has options now… oh! Baek Yi-an! Baek Yi-an storms in, cuts out the pass, and drives forward!”
“Gwangju has to stop this somehow. If they sit off Baek Yi-an and try to close the angle passively, he’ll just blow right past them!”
“Other holding mids maybe not—but Baek Yi-an has the ability to make it happen! Baek Yi-an! Is he going all the way? Oh! He uses Park Yeon-woo on the outside! Yeon-woo drives through and lays it back—Baek Yi-an… ahhhh!”
“Baek Yi-an’s shot hits the post and comes back out—wait? Yoon Seung-hwan? Seung-hwan!”
“GOOOOOOAL! Yoon Seung-hwan! The ball off the crossbar smacks Seung-hwan’s head and gets sucked into the net! That same hunger for goals he showed at the Asian Championship is waking up again on the big stage!”
Back-to-back goals off absurd mistakes. The more it piled up, the more restless Shin Nam-hyuk became—the man responsible for managing the midfield and defensive line. Eventually the problem exploded.
“Uh. Baek Yi-an is down on the field right now. Looks like Shin Nam-hyuk’s tackle went in a bit deep.”
“Yeah. On the replay there was contact, but it didn’t look like serious damage. Still, from the receiving end the impact could’ve been pretty heavy.”
“In the end the referee shows Shin Nam-hyuk a yellow card. That’s another golden chance for Jeonbuk.”
“Aigoo. Aigoo, what am I gonna do, I’m dying here.”
“Yi-an. The ref’s gone.”
“…He’s gone? You bastard, then say so sooner.”
I’d been rolling around on the grass for nothing.
At Han Gang-rok’s quiet heads-up I scrambled up and immediately started reading the situation.
Already two goals down and choking on frustration, Nam-hyuk hyung had gone for a desperate tackle with the courage to be hated—only to get completely shredded through midfield.
The second his outstretched foot touched my boot, I turned that courage-to-be-hated into pure hatred by deploying the breakfall techniques I’d mastered at the hapkido dojang as a kid. Layer on the facial acting I’d cheerfully polished through my previous life as a footballer, and the referee swallowed it whole, flashing Nam-hyuk hyung a yellow.
I’d gambled that a ref of that age probably had kids around my age and played the sympathy angle. It worked pretty well.
“Hey. Baek Yi-an, that acting was filthy. When did you practice that?”
“Come on, you think I just play around all the time? I pick it all up while enjoying my cultural life, man.”
“Cultural life my ass. Every rest day you’re out walking that dog—Ibrahimovic Poppy or whatever—on the back mountain and it keeps getting posted.”
“It’s Abraham, you idiot, not Ibrahimovic.”
“Same difference… Anyway, Nam-hyuk hyung got booked. What now?”
Han Gang-rok’s face fell as he brought up the booking. Getting a senior carded through a teammate’s full-method acting clearly didn’t sit right with him.
Of course, I didn’t care in the slightest.
I was trying to get him carded. What’s this guy even thinking?
My goal from the start had been to put Nam-hyuk hyung through a trial and force the step-up. Learning how to handle a booking was obviously part of the assignment, wasn’t it?
As a holding mid who has to cut passing lanes and stick tight for man-marking, yellows come easy. The Nam-hyuk hyung I knew had such a soft, fluid style that he’d never been booked before. This was the perfect chance to feed him a card and build that coping ability.
My body was fine, but I still had to keep up appearances, so I stayed in a half-crouch, pretending the aftereffects were still bad—when the referee’s whistle cut through the air. At the same moment Andres started his run-up with the ball at his feet.
Normally I would’ve taken it, but Andres was the expensive foreign signing for a reason; he could at least deliver a free kick worth looking at. Our guys were already planted inside Gwangju’s defensive line.
If he hit it himself he could still hunt the second ball, or he could look for the cross angle into a weak spot. Faced with the binary choice, Andres seemed to settle after a short think.
Thwump!
The shot left his foot and streaked straight as an arrow.
“Hey! Defense, move!”
Thud!
The trajectory was so textbook that Gwangju’s keeper dove and got a hand to it—but the problem was he only parried it. The ball spun off his gloves and dropped straight into the chaos of the penalty box.
Yoon Seung-hwan claimed it, immediately drove his body through the contact, and in the next breath had the shot away.
Tock!
“Yeeeahhh!”
“…Ah, for fuck’s sake… fucking hell.”
Whoa, what is that from Yoon Seung-hwan? The dribble’s one thing, but he lines Nam-hyuk hyung up from there and still scores?
Even a village dog can recite poetry after three years at a village school. All those beatings must’ve stacked experience points, because he took a perfectly good shooting chance and forced it into an own-goal off Nam-hyuk hyung.
Completely dismantled, Nam-hyuk hyung stared at the empty sky and started muttering under his breath.
Part of me wanted to sprint off and celebrate like Seung-hwan. But if I uncorked one of my full-power celebrations right then, I might catch a Bundesliga-level kick for my troubles, so I quietly slipped away instead.
Yeah. Plenty of time left. I could save the celebration I actually wanted for later.
A-yoon came to watch today, so maybe I should go with something a little cooler?
Watching Nam-hyuk hyung curse at the heavens, I felt something like a mother’s urge to give her son everything—every tiny detail I hadn’t taught him yet.
Right. When was I going to get another chance like today?
Sure, we’d face Gwangju again in the league and the Korea Cup second leg, but the thought that I had to squeeze every drop out of this opportunity kept ringing in my head. Decision made, I resolved to treat Nam-hyuk hyung to the full special course.
There was still a lot of time on the clock, but packing my know-how in would still be tight. I’d have to stuff it in dense.
With that thought I turned my focus back to the match—only for fate to decide that today would be the last time I saw Nam-hyuk hyung on the pitch.
“Aaaagh!”
Breeeeep!
“Shin Nam-hyuk. Second yellow—you’re off. You know what you did wrong.”
“…Ah! For real!”
Hey, the second yellow and red was supposed to be the final course of the day, and you just went and did the advanced lesson first?
True to form as the honor student, Nam-hyuk hyung had skipped ahead in the curriculum. With his wretched exit from the field, I never saw him again for the rest of the match.